


The First Step

by Mandergee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Death, Death of a Parent, F/M, Friendship, I don't even know if there ARE canon names for Coulson's parents, S.H.I.E.L.D Academy Era, non-canon names for Coulson's parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandergee/pseuds/Mandergee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't thought it would be weird, taking her home to meet his mother. But he certainly hadn't expected that the process would go so smoothly...or that he'd find they had something else in common that only made him fall even harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Step

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nessnessquik](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nessnessquik), [haveievermentioned](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=haveievermentioned).



> Spoilers for season 2 episode 4, "Face My Enemy". Mostly little detail spoilers, nothing at all major.  
> I also have no idea if Coulson's parents have names, so I took the liberty of giving them some.
> 
> A thank you goes to my Nessness, who let me use the cute little bit of dialogue between Phil and his mom. I love his mom now- and I don't even know if she'd really be like this!

     He could remember kneeling by his father, handing him heavy bricks one by one and watching him set them into the concrete, building the walkway that twisted in a river of red and grey from driveway to the front steps of his childhood home. His grandfather had built the house, bricks that matched the walkway and a front door that was the same vivid green as his mother's eyes. His father had told him that he wanted to be reminded of what lay behind that door when he came home each night, to see the bright green beneath the front light when he'd pull in the driveway and know his childhood sweetheart was standing behind it watching for him.

    When his father had died his mother had stayed, and even though subtle changes had been made over time that front door had remained the same, and as he glanced at it when Melinda pulled the car into the driveway, Phil wondered if he'd have a similar story to tell his children someday. Or if he was meant to, with S.H.I.E.L.D taking him out into the field and all over the world. Maybe, he thought, I'm supposed to have a different story to tell them about how much I love their mother.

    "Am I in the right place?" He'd let Melinda drive when she'd seen his car, the brilliant red mustang he kept in storage, brought out for the trips back home and occasional need to go farther than the bus route traveled around the Academy. It hadn't been cost effective... but he couldn't bear to leave her home, and Rosie had taken the long drive to S.H.I.E.L.D Academy when it came time to enroll. "Phil?"

    "This is it." Number thirteen, sitting on the curb with a crab apple tree in the front yard and patches of bare dirt where his father had somehow been unable to make green grass grow. The rest of the lawn was wet with dew, and he felt the moisture creep through the thin khaki of his pantleg as he stepped out of the car, hoisting twoduffles from the backseat as Melinda followed. When she reached for hers he held it away, grinned as he held the two high above the car. "I've got them."

    "Phil-"

    "I like to think living away from home hasn't made him forget his manners- I'm glad to see I'm right." The voice behind him was slightly older, time having taken away the smooth soprano he remembered singing so brightly when he was in the bathtub. She'd pour water over his head and he'd laugh as the thin brown strands got in his eyes, cry a little when soap bubbles followed and she'd tenderly wipe them off his cheeks. While her own brown hair had gone softly grey, his mother's eyes were still as bright as he'd remembered, and her smile was just as warm."You two left earlier than I expected."

    "We wanted to beat the traffic. Hi, Mom." Her chin couldn't rest in his hair anymore, and he laughed as she pulled him in and tried anyway. Now she was the same height he was, and he wondered how many years were left before she'd be the shorter one and he'd be able to see over the top of her head. "I brought someone with me."

    The jealousy had long since faded, replaced by a quiet admiration that occasionally felt like something more, although he was well aware that Melinda had her eyes on someone else, and he couldn't compete with someone like that. But he felt the latter swell up again momentarily as she stepped easily forward and into his mother's arms like she belonged there, somehow knowing it was something she needed.

    "You must be Melinda. Phillip doesn't call often, but he writes wonderful letters about you. I hear you're quite the combat expert." It wasn't surprising that his mother had already taken Melinda on her arm, whisking her into the house while he checked Rosie for something he might have forgotten. He hadn't warned Melinda, he realized, and his mother was more talkative than he had ever seen- not since he'd entered S.H.I.E.L.D Academy and she'd asked him if he wouldn't reconsider. She'd talked all night, about him taking over his father's old accounting firm, finding a place nearby where he could settle down...and he could still see the look in her eye when he'd told her he wouldn't. When he'd told her he was leaving in the morning.

    Time healed wounds, but it hadn't made him forget the last time he'd made her cry.

    Phil trailed behind them after a few minutes, could hear his mother's laugh behind the green door, and he could have sworn he'd heard another peal of laughter join in. He'd never heard Melinda laugh like that, but as soon as he stepped inside...he heard her laugh again.

\---

    "She's only a friend, Mom. Please don't be weird."

    "Who's weird? Phillip, she's lovely." Melinda had offered to wash the dishes and his mother had vehemently declined, sending her into the bedroom at the end of the hall with the promise that she could unpack her things and have the chance to search through a childhood she'd been asking endless questions about. Over dinner his mother had managed to dredge up every embarrassing story, telling Melinda about the times he'd been naked in the front yard doing jumping jacks and playing hopscotch....or the time he'd had his best friend sleep over and he'd wet the bed, the thin trickle leaking through the mattress and onto Charlie's unsuspecting head. Phil hadn't had the heart to tell Charlie the truth, had lied and said the apple juice he'd smuggled into bed spilled from the bottle in the middle of the night. "I'm so glad you brought her to visit. I was expecting Clinton again."

    "That's Clint, Mom. He went to Vale with Natasha Romanov. Remember, I told you about them?"

    "Ah, well. You and Melinda could have what they do, honey. My feelings wouldn't have been hurt if you'd taken her skiing instead of coming home."

    "Don't lie, Mom. You're glad we're here." He pressed a kiss to her temple and scrubbed sauce from the bottom of a shallow pan, ran it beneath the flow of warm water from the faucet. The silverware, the pots and pans...he was sure she'd had them for as long as he could remember. "I can finish these, if you wanted to tell Melinda a few more stories. I don't think you told her about the time you caught me playing Doctor with Sarah Jane from next door."

    "I have to leave a few things for next time." His mother swatted at him with the dishrag and smiled, gestured with her chin toward the hallway. "Go. Spend some time with your friend. When I'm finished here I'll pull out the sofa for you- Melinda can have your room."

    "Thanks, Mom."

    Melinda had managed to unpack everything by the time he reached the end of the hall, stood in the doorway and looked around the tiny room he'd lived so many years in. He wondered when his Captain America wallpaper had become so faded and how long had it been since his father hung his balsa wood plane from the ceiling- the one he could reach up and touch now, sending it whirling on its fishing line. She sat on the edge of his bed with her head down, hands clasped and eyes closed, and he cleared his throat loudly before stepping in.

    Some things, he realized, could be inserted into a space and look like they belonged there. Some people you could know your entire life and they'd never be out of place. Melinda was one of those people, and as her eyes opened, golden brown and sparkling in the overhead light, Phil thought about how easily he could imagine her in his life for every single day of it.

    "You really did like your superheroes," She smiled, ran her fingertips over the pattern of blue plaid on the comforter beneath her. There was still a stain from his favorite hot chocolate, the kind his father would bring him when he had trouble sleeping. It had been something special, he'd told his son- something they'd keep secret from his mother. "Captain America, hm? I don't remember him having a kangaroo sidekick."

    "A kanga-" He stopped short as she opened her hands, drew the large stuffed kangaroo from between her knees and placed it on the bed between them. She unpacked my bag too. "Melinda, I-"

    "I sleep with a stuffed panda, Phil. I'm not exactly in a position to judge." It was easy to imagine her curled up beneath the regulation sheets in the dorms, studying manuals while she tucked a black and white panda into the crook of her arm. Sleeping at night with her lips parted slightly, soft brown hair falling in a curtain over the well-loved memento of her childhood. Phil reached out a hand, fiddled absently with the kangaroo's worn left ear. "My mother gave me Mushu when I was six. I couldn't sleep for weeks every time we moved to a new city."

    "My mom gave _him_ to me when I was five. I named him Richard..after my grandfather. But when my father died, it was his name too, so..." He'd never expected his father to die, had sat in his room with Richard on his lap, pressing his face into the corduroy sides in an attempt to quiet the choking sobs. No one had ever told him it wasn't okay to cry, but a living room full of uncles, aunts and cousins had left him feeling vulnerable in a way he didn't want to let them see. "They wanted to name me Richard, but I'd have been the third, so...I guess he's Richard the Third, instead. My dad always loved history, so I think he would have liked that."

    "I like Phil better- it suits you." His mother could be heard in the kitchen, the scent of chocolate chips wafting down through the doorway as they sat together, and Melinda reached out to run her hand over Richard's misshapen body. "I'm sorry- I should have left him in your bag."

    "It's all right. You unpacked for me, so I should thank you. I hate unpacking." He hated packing, too, and was glad he'd taken the time to roll the socks into matching pairs and fold the few shirts he'd brought. Melinda would have a bag that was packed with precision- Phil had seen the way she packed for missions, managed to work more pairs of practical black pants and sneakers into her own bag than he'd ever imagined could fit. But she was always prepared, and he'd never been more impressed with anyone's skills until he'd met her. "I hope you like chocolate chip cookies- my mom makes the best I've ever had."

    "She'd better be sending some back with us." She picked Richard up and kissed the top of his head, brought her lips close to one of his worn ears and whispered softly into it. "Don't worry- I'm just thanking him for having your back all these years. My mother always told me that Mushu had a spirit, that he was watching over me when I slept. If Richard's been watching over my best friend, I want to thank him for it. We might need him once we get out in the field."

    "First mission's in Sausalito. Two weeks." When they'd posted assignments he'd been excited, seen the glow in Melinda's eyes when she'd turned from the bulletin board to look at him from across the crowd of graduating Agents. Richard would have to stay behind, packed into storage with Rosie and the rest of his belongings until they came home and he could find a new apartment close enough to HQ to be convenient. "You think you're ready?"

    "I think we're ready." She set Richard on the bed and moved past him, stopping only to smile back at the lopsided animal that stared at them with dull, black button eyes. "Come on. I don't think we're going to get many freshly baked cookies in the field- and if dinner was any indication I _don't_ intend to miss this."

    I wish dad could meet her. Phil thought his father would have liked Melinda, the sass and the spark that had drawn him to her on the first day of hand-to-hand when she'd thrown him against the mats and given him the same smirk she shot over her right shoulder as he followed her toward the kitchen. In some ways she reminded him of his mother, although Lydia Coulson didn't have the same hatred of high heels and pretty dresses that Melinda did.

    The peels of laughter reached his ears again and he smiled, gazed up at a picture of his father on the wall as he passed by. Somehow it seemed like he did approve of the woman his son had brought home, and even if she was just a friend...the silent communication between Phil and the memory of his father had him hoping that someday Melinda May could be more.

    She'd already met his mother...and that was just the first step.   


End file.
